2nd Chance Hospital: The Return of Steerforth
by Excelsior Skyy
Summary: (David Copperfield) Steerforth doesn't die and confesses his true feelings...(SLASH)
1. Clarifications and Findings

*Click*  
  
You know what amazes me? Out of two pages of Dickens fanfiction, there is not one single David Copperfield fic out there, not even a slashy one, (which amazes me even more.) So I decided I'd contribute, perhaps, to both. I don't know whether it's because no one can actually get through the book or because no one has liked it enough to bother, but I think it's probably my favourite novel out of any that Dickens has written, and deserves a fanfiction of its own. So there you are, Mas'er Davy.  
  
*Click*  
  
CH 1. Clarifications and Findings  
  
Let me start off by saying that Steerforth was not, much to the deep distress of poor old Mister Pegotty, dead. His ship had indeed wrecked in the maelstrom that attacked the previous evening, but he himself had not quite reached Heaven's door. So it was that James Steerforth was found, near most drowned but only unconscious as it were, by dear old Ham, and soon followed by myself. Seeing him there upon the shore that day, his wind dried curls nestled in the crook of his arm as they had been so often in the days of our youth, nearly drove me to believe that he /had/ reached the eternal sleep. His face was far too pale and his lips not quite the healthful shade of pink to be anything but dead. Yet, as Ham laid an ear to his damp chest, he observed a faint rattling, a shaking inhale and exhale. This feeble attempt of life flamed up inside me such contemptible feelings of hatred and love that I could have almost done him in myself just to rid my own poor heart of it. What I mean to say is, what right had he, the man who had taken our Em'ly away from home and family, to live? Yet he was my friend, my companion, and still I loved him! A small battle waged inside my soul at that second, and I didn't know whether I wanted to kiss the creature or let the ocean take him, but Ham decided it for me promptly.  
Without any further consideration, my comrade rushed for assistance (probably to his chagrin, now I think of it) and I, who was left with dear Steerforth, persuaded him to breathe, to hold on for only a moment more, for help was on the way. I bundled him in my own greatcoat and held him to me, wishing upon my mother's grave that he wasn't so deathly cold and hoping even more that Ham would make haste. Steerforth made no sign of acknowledgement nor any other sign of life, and still I clutched him, trying to ignore the seagulls which had discovered us and were peering accusingly with beady eyes.  
"Go away!" I growled hoarsely; the creatures unabashedly hopped closer. "Shoo! He isn't dead! Go away!" With my free hand I heaved a fistful of sand, not particularly at them, but in their general direction, to which they responded with a loud, distasteful scream and a mad flap-hop farther down the beach. "Fool birds!" I called after them pointedly, "He's not dead! He's not! And he's not going to be either!" And quite unbidden, a great hot tear rolled from my eye and landed softly in the sand.  
"Daisy. . . ." Steerforth moaned. 


	2. The Awakening

Ch. 2  
  
The Awakening  
  
"Steerforth?"  
  
At the sound of his voice, I nearly flung him from me in shock, but I recovered quickly and simply pulled the greatcoat tighter about him. I inquired again.  
  
"Steerforth? Can you hear me? It's me, David."  
  
His purple lips moved slightly and I thought he might try again; however, he only proceeded in spitting out half of the ocean upon the shore with a wet cough. The poor fellow had inhaled most of the Atlantic, which explained a great number of things. What I found strange, still and all, was that even this factor could not quite touch why he was calling out my name rather than that of his mother or even that of dear Emily, whom he had been so enraptured with. Still, I encouraged him to speak further, but nothing more would be uttered until Ham returned, flanked on both sides by burly, dull men with a small cart. It was at which point that he muttered something undiscernible and fell back into unconsciousness.  
  
He was carried to the nearest hospice, a large, moss encrusted stone building called, ironically, St. James. After being observed, the doctors finally came to the conclusion that he was sodden and a bit banged about, but should be all right in the long run, which, as a rule, wasn't anything more than I could have told them myself. Steerforth himself had yet to fully awaken, and I certainly couldn't blame him. Nearly being lost at sea does that to a person I can very well guess, so I let him sleep as much as he wished. All the while I sat beside him, peering into his pallid face from time to time, hoping by chance to see the flutter of thick lashes and be greeted with the familiar, "Why, hullo Daisy!"  
  
By some unknown means, Mrs. Steerforth and Ms. Dartle had been informed of the accident and came at once. They bustled and whimpered around his bed, petting him and holding his hand. I nodded pleasantly at Ms. Dartle, who frowned disapprovingly, if not bitterly, making it a point that she wanted absolutely nothing at all to do with my personage. She smoothed Steerforth's hair possessively, whispering soppy things into his unhearing ears, clutching his frigid hand. Mrs. Steerforth herself sat quietly on the end of his bed and did not acknowledge me at all. After a long period of saying nothing, Mrs. Steerforth spoke up.  
  
"Rosa, let us leave him. He needs his rest," Rosa nearly said something in protest, but wisely clamped her mouth. "Mr. Copperfield," Mrs. Steerforth continued steely, "will be sure to notify us when he does awake. Good day to you." The older woman nodded her head at me and, taking Rosa's elbow, led her through the door. With a toss of her dark hair, Rosa threw one last longing glance towards the sleeping man and one more icy stare at me before departing. I do wish I knew what I did to irk her so, but either way, it was pleasant to be alone again.  
  
"Daisy . . . has my mother . . . and . . . that . . . that girl gone?"  
  
"Yes, yes they have, dear Steerforth," I rushed to him and took his hand in mine, surprised to say the least at his consciousness, "But I'm sure they would have loved to hear your voice! How unfortunate that you could not have awoken sooner!"  
  
"I've been awake Daisy, but they---they did not need to know it. Let them--- " he paused to cough, "---let them worry a bit more." His voice was grating and sore, a wretched shadow of the melodious throat he once had. Steerforth had yet to open his eyes, but he gave one of his crooked grins, which brought a flood of warmth into my body.  
  
"We were all so worried . . . we thought you had died."  
  
"You concerned yourself over me, even after all the things I've done?" His tone was cynical.  
  
I patted his hand sadly, almost ruing the day I had said the words I was about to bequeath to him. "I have already told you, dear Steerforth, that you are loved equally in my heart. No better, no worse."  
  
"I'm a murderer, Daisy!" he cried out, "A crook! A kidnapper! I'm a wicked man who doesn't deserve the purest love from the Devil himself, much less an angel!" Steerforth coughed miserably "If you choose not. . . to forgive me, Daisy, I will understand completely. In fact, it might be for the best if you left."  
  
"Leave you? What good will that do? The wrong-doing's been done; I've already come this far with you, and you mean to tell me to just stop?"  
  
"Yes, David. Please. Save me, save us both, from excess strife." And he opened his eyes wearily. He even called me by my Christian name, something he hadn't done since I couldn't remember when. There was a look in those eyes that said something that I couldn't understand, some deep message that yearned to escape but could not. We gazed at each other for what seemed like ages, but I simply could not read what he was trying to tell me, so I, not being the wisest nor the most timely man in the world spat out something that had crossed everyone's mind.  
  
"Steerforth . . . why /did/ you take her away? You barely knew her but you knew that she was betrothed to a good man."  
  
"It does not matter, Daisy. What does matter is that I did not love her. It is true that I cared for her in ways that Ham could not; but no, I did not love her. I am sorry to have ever looked upon her snotty face."  
  
Now to hear of my Little Em'ly talked about as if she were nothing more than a street wretch or a nasty child I could not hardly bare. My eyes brimmed with unwonted tears and with a bitter moan, I released his hand and turned away.  
  
"Then why? Why, after I placed all my love and trust in you, did you go and ruin everything? Wasn't it enough that I gave you my friendship? Did you have to take away a dear friend too?"  
  
He did not speak for a long while after this, but he finally replied, hesitantly. "No. It was not enough. Emily was just a replacement, a mockery of what I really wanted and could not have."  
  
"And prey, what was that?" I spat icily. "You're only one of the most well- to-do men in England; what was it that you could not possibly own?"  
  
He took a great breath. "You . . . ."  
  
"What? Me?! You already had me! You owned my very heart! I loved you as the brother I never had, dearest Steerforth! How ridiculous!"  
  
"But I do not wish to be your brother, David," Steerforth said simply. I faced him again and drew a chair near the bed, sitting, then resting my chin irritably upon my fist.  
  
"What then? You want to be my Uncle? My father? My distant relation? If you disliked me so, why had you not ever mentioned it?"  
  
"Dislike you? Not hardly! But, alas, nothing as simple as that, dear silly Daisy" And with a hand still blue and chilly, he ran his forefinger down my cheek. I caught his hand and held it there, refusing to let it go until he told me.  
  
"You see, Daisy, I want you to love me the way I love you. Not as a brother, not as an uncle, or even as a friend loves a friend," he pulled himself up wearily and drew his face near mine. "But like this," and he kissed me, ever so softly. It was like kissing snow, so cold were his lips, but I hadn't even time to think about it. I was astonished beyond talking. Nervously my hand ran to my lips and covered them, as if they were ashamed of what had just occurred.  
  
"Steerforth.no.I couldn't.."  
  
"And why couldn't you, my Daisy? Am I not beautiful? Am I not everything you have ever wished for?" He inhaled deeply, proudly, bringing a hem to his throat.  
  
"No---I mean---yes, I suppose, but.."  
  
"And you.ever since school I have wanted you. You are exquisite. You are the only thing I've truly wanted. I even thought I wanted doltish old Dartle at times, but she is.nothing compared to you."  
  
"She knows then!" It was a statement. I needn't even bother asking, having seen the hatred upon her once pretty face.  
  
"Of course she knows. She may be a dolt, but she isn't blind."  
  
I gasped for air, but my lungs seemed to refuse it. It was all too sudden. The man whom I had shared so much with, had called my friend, and had loved with all my heart seemed almost to have betrayed me. The time that I had gotten drunk and made an imbecile of myself at the theatre, it was Steerforth who carried me home, undressed me, put me to bed. What a pleasurable experience that must have been to him. But then, I wondered suddenly, had it been enjoyable to me as well? I had been so tipsy that couldn't hardly hold my breath, much less my wits; had I done anything.anything improper? I flushed at the thought.  
  
~*~  
  
"Why, hello Mrs.Graaable! Suchafinalpleasureto---whatImeantersay, a pleasureto'vefinallymet---!"  
  
"Daisy, tha'would be a lamp post."  
  
"IzzitSteerforth? Whysoitis, soitis! Sucherpertylamppost *hic* sheizazwell!  
  
"Daisy, I be'leeve you'vead a mite too muchter drink tonight."  
  
"Nomoren' you had, old boy! Hahaha*hic*ha! Noterdrop morenyou!"  
  
"Quite so, quite so. But I be'leeve I'vead a bit more expeeerience with it than you, old chap." Steerforth chuckled. They both looked at each other then and laughed as if that insulting remark had been in truth the wittiest thing ever said.  
  
"YerwunnerfulSteerforth. DidIevertellyatha'?"  
  
"YehIbe'leeve yer did Daisy. Acouplertimes."  
  
"Well ya are. I'mbein-I'mbein' dead honest now, sodon'tcherlaugh."  
  
"I ain't laughin' Daisy."  
  
"An'tcha? Well, soyaain't." The boy, a handsome youngish, rather feminine thing, turned suddenly upon his companion. "Steerforth?"  
  
"Yeh, Daisy?"  
  
"Didjereverwannakisssomebody?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Did-jer-ever-wanna-kiss-somebody?"  
  
"Sure enough, Daisy, sure enough."  
  
"WhatImeantersay is, somebody yourenotsupposter kiss,"  
  
"You mean like Miss Dartle?"  
  
"Nawreally, Steerfortholdthing---she'sagirl." At this point, Steerforth sobered entirely.  
  
"Like my mother?"  
  
"Tech'nickly, shezzagirl too. Say,ferinstance,me. Didjereverwannakissme?"  
  
"What?!"  
  
"'Mbein'serious! Didjereverwannakissme?"  
  
"Now Daisy.."  
  
"You'ave!*hic* Ikintell! Ikinseeitin*hic*yereyes!"  
  
"Daisy, that's enough."  
  
"Whaterya? Scared? IzzSteerforthalittlescaredychicken? Cannuhkiss'isownfriend?"  
  
"No. . . I just don't think---Daisy, David, dear David, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying!"  
  
"Idoso! I'msayin' . . . I'msayin . . . whatwasit I was sayin' agin?" David grinned slightly and collapsed into a puddle of gentleman upon the ground. Steerforth shook his head sadly and played crutch as he and his young friend hobbled slowly across the street. Steerforth was glad it was too late for decent society to be out and about---to be seen like this would have been a humiliation to rival that at the theatre that evening.  
  
What really disturbed James Steerforth was that unwittingly, David had seen something he was not supposed to see---ever.  
  
~*To Be Continued Whenever I Feel Like It, Which is Probably Never*~ 


End file.
